‘So, do you think our assistant coach’s idea could work? Are you up for giving it a try?’
‘He can hardly do worse than me!’ Dyson exclaimed, causing the others to burst out laughing. Elliot hadn’t wanted to replace Dyson in goal until he’d figured out who might do better, but an urgent situation called for immediate action, and nobody wanted the boys to face their biggest loss of the season right on the heels of the success of their first goal.
‘I’ll give it a try as long as no one gets mad at me if I’m rubbish,’ Jan said, once the laughter had died down.
‘Dude, since when hasanyoneon this team acted like that?’ Elliot asked.
‘Coach Simonson did,’ Wilf chipped in. ‘He told Jan he’d be better off listening to sport on the radio.’
Elliot swallowed hard and gripped the ball in his hand a little tighter. ‘Anyone who’s clever and awesome enough to still be part of the Harriers?’
‘No coach,’ most of the boys droned, apart from Wilf, who added, ‘Olly’s dad said he was going to effing lose it himself if we lost one more match. He sounded quite angry, then.’
‘Jan, you’ve already made me proud by being brave enough to try,’ Elliot said. ‘You guys know there’s only one thing I ask of you.’
‘To run in the right direction?’ Wodger asked.
‘Well, that would be helpful, but it wasn’t what I meant…’
‘Ooh – to help each other out!’
‘Whatever you do, enjoy it.’
‘Put all the balls in the big bag at the end of training.’
The boys all threw their suggestions into the ring.
‘Okay!’ Elliot said. ‘Maybe more than one thing. But themost important thingI ask of you, the one that beats all the rest, is that you give it a go. So.’ He held up the ball, nodding to where the referee was calling the teams back on the pitch for the second half. ‘What do you reckon? Up for giving it a go?’
The cheers and fist-pumps as fourteen little legs ran, limped and cartwheeled back onto the pitch was the answer that made every failed tackle, missed shot and own goal worth it.
* * *
With Jan our keeper, Olly was now free to fly. Despite the frequency with which he stopped to wait for a teammate to catch up, or help tie their shoelace, the difference was instantaneous. The rest of the boys followed his direction instinctively, and there was no more heading in the wrong direction, even when Dyson’s baby sister started chanting for her brother at the top of her voice.
They scored two goals. One each for Olly and Jackson. Wilf would have scored, too, if he’d not sabotaged the shot because of his refusal to score if his mum wouldn’t see it.
It might as well have been twenty from the celebrations when the referee blew the final whistle.
Elliot didn’t stop grinning the whole way home.
24
After announcing the first changes to the Barn’s activity programme on Monday lunchtime, we started off gently with an all-new interactive music quiz on Tuesday, giving the competitors the opportunity to sing, hum or mine different songs. Wednesday, we had a fascinating introduction to genealogy, made even more so thanks to various attendees sharing stories about some rather unusual ancestors.
So far, so good.
And then Thursday.
The Lavender Mobile Beauty Parlour came out of retirement and set up shop in the Barn library. There were initial objections from a group who’d been planning a game of Cluedo, but when Ada brazenly assaulted Hetty with a dab of lipstick that added an instant glow to her pallid complexion, they stopped grumbling and joined the queue.
As requested, Lance had set up three of our comfiest chairs in view of the library windows, two for Ada’s hair clients and one for May who focussed on face, hands and feet. Two more chairs were reserved for those next in the queue, and everyone else was ushered elsewhere. I’d posted a sign-up chart on Monday, and due to the number of people, both male and female, who had enjoyed pampering and primping from the twin sisters prior to their retirement, it had filled up within minutes. I’d had to persuade the Lavender Ladies to up their sessions to weekly, then print out more sheets for the next few weeks, with strict instructions that no one could sign up for more than once a month unless there happened to be a spare spot, so that everyone could have a turn. That then led to more time figuring out who’d signed up multiple times using false names, as well as my dad uncovering a black-market scheme whereby people sold the use of their names to those desperate for a more frequent blow dry.
As a treat, we allowed the café to provide a waitress service, and the room was soon buzzing with a perfect mix of anticipation, contentment and Ada’s outlandish stories about her adventures across several continents. I was so entranced with one tale about a full-moon ball in Florence that I was late for lunch.
It was all going brilliantly, until Vivienne and Veronica Vincent, also sisters although not twins, took their turn. Ada, who did about 90 per cent of the talking between her and May, insisted that I move the schedule so that the sisters could be treated at the same time. Vivienne had requested a head massage and hair styling; Veronica had booked a facial.
‘We’ll give them both,’ Ada had told me. ‘They’re old friends. Well, ancient friends truth be told, and they both deserve a double treatment. Book them in last and we’ll run over time if necessary, so no one else has to miss out.’
